The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set (11 page)

“We should get you home,” Lord Maccon asserted, looking around furtively. He removed her hand gently from his shoulder and
curled it about his forearm, leading her at a brisk pace down the street. “Sangria is just a few blocks away. We should be
able to hail a cab there at this time of night.”

“And somehow you think it is a good idea for a were-wolf and a preternatural to show up at the front door of the most notorious
vampire club in London looking for a hackney?”

“Hush, you.” Lord Maccon looked faintly offended, as though her statement were one of doubt in his ability to protect her.

“I take it you do not want to know what I found out from the vampire hive, then?” Miss Tarabotti asked.

He sighed loudly. “I take it you want to tell me?”

Alexia nodded, tugging down the sleeves of her over jacket. She shivered in the night air. She had dressed to go from carriage
to house, not for an evening stroll.

“The countess seems an odd sort of queen,” Miss Tarabotti began her story.

“You did not let her appearance mislead you, did you? She is very old, not very nice, and only interested in advancing her
personal agenda.” He removed his evening jacket and wrapped it around Alexia's shoulders.

“She is frightened. They have had three unexplainable new vampires appear inside Westminster territory in the past two weeks,”
said Miss Tarabotti, snuggling into the jacket. It was made from a high-end Bond Street silk blend, cut to perfection, but
it smelled of open grassland. She liked that.

Lord Maccon said something very rude, and possibly true, about Countess Nadasdy's ancestry.

“I take it she did not inform BUR?” Alexia pretended artlessness.

Lord Maccon growled, low and threatening. “No, she most certainly did not!”

Miss Tarabotti nodded and looked at the earl with wide innocent eyes, imitating Ivy as best she could. It was harder than
one would have thought. “The countess gave me tacit permission to involve the government at this time.” Bat, bat, bat, went
the eyelashes.

This statement, in conjunction with the lashes, seemed to make Lord Maccon even more annoyed. “As if it were her decision!
We should have been informed at the onset.”

Miss Tarabotti put a cautionary hand on his arm. “Her behavior was almost sad. She is quite frightened. Although she would
never openly admit to being unable to cope with the situation. She did say the hive has managed to catch two of these mystery
roves and that they died shortly thereafter.”

Lord Maccon's expression said he would not put it past vampires to kill their own kind.

Alexia continued. “The mysterious newcomers seem entirely new. She said they arrive knowing nothing of customs, laws, or politics.”

Lord Maccon walked along silently, processing this information for a few steps. He hated to admit it, but Miss Tarabotti had
single-handedly ascertained more about what was transpiring than any of his agents. He was forced into feeling… What exactly
was that sensation? Admiration? Surely not.

“Do you know what else these new ones do not know about?” asked Alexia nervously.

The earl suddenly had a very odd expression of confusion upon his face. He was eyeing her as though she had changed unexpectedly
into something entirely non-Alexiaish.

“You seem to be far better informed than anyone else at the moment,” responded the earl nervously with a sniff.

Miss Tarabotti touched her hair self-consciously under his appraising look, and then she answered her own question. “They
do not know about me.”

Lord Maccon nodded. “BUR, the packs, and the hives try to keep preternatural identity as secret as possible. If these vampires
are being metamorphosed outside the hive, they would have no reason to know your kind even existed at all.”

Miss Tarabotti was struck by something. She stopped in her tracks. “That man, he said they wanted to know
who
I was.”

“What man?”

“The man with the handkerchief.”

Lord Maccon groaned. “So they
were
after you specifically, blast it! I thought they might be after any drone or vampire, and you were just exiting the hive
at the wrong time. You do realize they are going to try again?”

Alexia glanced up at him, pulling his jacket closer about her. “I guess I had best not give them another opportunity.”

Lord Maccon was thinking exactly the same thing. He moved a little closer, curling her arm more firmly about his. He started
them both moving once more toward Sangria, light, and company, and away from the empty, echoing side streets. “I'll have to
set a watch on you.”

Miss Tarabotti snorted. “And what happens at full moon?”

Lord Maccon winced. “BUR has daylight and vampire agents, as well as werewolves.”

Alexia got on her proverbial high horse. “I will
not
have strangers dogging my every step, thank you. You, certainly, Professor Lyall if I must, but others…”

Lord Maccon grinned foolishly at that particular prioritization. His company had just merited a “certainly.” What she said
next, however, drove the smile right off his face.

“What if I arrange to be around Lord Akeldama during the full moon?”

The earl looked daggers. “I am certain he would be
extremely
helpful in a fight. He could ruthlessly flatter all your attackers into abject submission.”

Miss Tarabotti grinned. “You know, your intense dislike of my dear vampire friend could almost sound like jealousy if the
idea were not so patently absurd. Now, listen, my lord, if you simply let me—”

Lord Maccon let go of her arm, stopped, turned, and, to her complete surprise, kissed her full on the lips.

T
he earl grabbed Miss Tarabotti's chin with one big hand and the small of her back with the other, pulling her toward him hard.
He slanted his mouth over hers almost violently.

She jerked back. “What are you…?”

“Only way to keep you quiet,” he grumbled, taking her chin in a firmer grip and planting his mouth atop hers once more.

It was not the kind of kiss Alexia had ever experienced before. Not that she had been kissed all that frequently prior to
this particular point in time. There were a few aberrations in her youth when some rogue or other thought a young and swarthy
chaperone might be an easy mark. In such cases, the experience had been sloppy and, due to her ever-present and aptly applied
parasol, brief. Lord Maccon's kiss was expertly administered. From his enthusiasm, Miss Tarabotti felt he might be trying
to make up for her previous deficit in the arena of kissing. He was doing a bang-up job of it. Which was to be expected considering
his years, possibly even centuries, of experience. Since she was holding his coat closed about her, Alexia's arms were effectively
trapped by his sudden embrace, giving him full access without impediment. Not, Alexia thought, that she would be inclined
to struggle.

The kiss itself was initially quite gentle: slow and soft. Alexia found it surprising given the violence of his embrace. She
also found it faintly unsatisfying. She gave a little murmur of frustration and leaned in toward him. Then the kiss changed.
It became harder, rougher, parting her lips with purpose. There was even, shockingly, tongue involved in the proceedings.
Miss Tarabotti was not certain about
that.
It bordered on sloppy, but then again, the sheer heat of it… Her pragmatic preternatural self assessed the situation and
realized that she could definitely learn to love the taste of him: like one of those expensive French soups, dark and rich.
She arched her back. Her breath had gone all uneven, perhaps because her mouth was clogged with kisses. Alexia was just beginning
to come to terms with the tongue concept and notice that she was now getting too warm to need the earl's jacket, when he left
off kissing, pushed the coat roughly down, and started nibbling on her neck.

No need to think on that for any span of time. Miss Tarabotti knew instantly that she adored the sensation. She leaned into
him even more, too lost in the gathering feelings to really register the fact that his left hand, which had been residing
comfortably at the small of her back, had worked its way downward and, apparently un-hindered by her bustle, was forming a
newly intimate association with her posterior.

Lord Maccon moved her about, still nibbling, shoving the trailing ribbons of her perch hat aside so he could get at the back
of her neck. He paused at one point to growl into her ear, sounding bewildered, “What
is
that spice you always smell like?”

Miss Tarabotti blinked. “Cinnamon and vanilla,” she admitted. “I use it in my hair rinse.” Not prone to flushing, even under
the most trying of circumstances, her skin nevertheless felt strangely hot and full.

The earl did not reply. He simply went back to nibbling.

Alexia's head lolled, but she frowned for a second, certain there was something she was not supposed to be doing. Since engaging
in a passionate embrace, with a peer of the realm, in the middle of the public street, did not occur to her as inappropriate
just then, she immersed herself in the nibbles. They were becoming sharper and more insistent. Alexia found that she liked
the idea of maybe a bite or two. As if in response to that thought, Lord Maccon sank his human—due to their shockingly informal
embrace and the fact that she was a preternatural—teeth into the place where her neck and shoulder joined.

It sent tingling shocks through Alexia's entire body—a most delightful sensation, better than hot tea on a cold morning. She
moaned and rubbed herself up against him, enjoying his big werewolf-sized body, pushing her neck against his mouth.

Someone cleared his throat delicately.

Lord Maccon bit down harder.

Miss Tarabotti lost complete control of her kneecaps, grateful for the wide hand firmly supporting her nether regions.

“Pardon me, my lord,” said a polite voice.

Lord Maccon stopped biting Miss Tarabotti. He pulled away, putting about a finger's width of space between them. It felt like
a yard. He shook his head, glanced at Alexia in shock, let go of her bottom, stared at his own hand as though accusing it
of independent action, and then looked thoroughly ashamed of himself.

Unfortunately, Miss Tarabotti was too befuddled to truly appreciate the earl's uncharacteristic expression of chagrin.

He recovered himself soon enough and let loose a string of unsavory words Miss Tarabotti was certain no gentleman ought ever
use around a lady, no matter how provoked. Then Lord Maccon turned to stand before her, shielding her decidedly mussed appearance
from view.

Miss Tarabotti, knowing she should straighten her hat and probably the bodice of her dress and the fall of her bustle as well,
could do nothing more than lean forward limply against Lord Maccon's back.

“Randolph, you could have chosen a better time,” said the earl in exasperation.

Professor Lyall stood diffidently in front of his Alpha. “Possibly. But this is pack business, and it is important.”

Alexia blinked stupidly at the Beta from around the earl's upper arm. Her heart was doing crazy things, and she still could
not locate her kneecaps. She took a deep breath and put some serious attention into tracking them down.

“Miss Tarabotti, good evening,” acknowledged Professor Lyall, apparently unsurprised to find her the object of his lordship's
amorous attentions.

“Didn't I recently send you on circuit?” Lord Maccon, back to his customary annoyed state, seemed to have turned all his considerable
aggravation on to his Beta instead of Miss Tarabotti for once.

Alexia decided, then and there, that Lord Conall Maccon clearly had only two modes of operation: annoyed and aroused. She
wondered which one she would prefer to deal with on a regular basis. Her body joined in that discussion without shame, and
she actually managed to shock
herself
into continued silence.

Professor Lyall did not seem to require a response to his salutation from Miss Tarabotti. He answered Lord Maccon's question
instead. “I uncovered a situation in Canterbury. It was unusual enough to drive me back here to London without bothering further
on circuit.”

“Well?” said Lord Maccon impatiently.

Alexia came back to her senses finally and straightened her hat. She pulled up on the neckline of her dress at the shoulder
and fluffed out the fall of her bustle. Then she realized she had just engaged in a protracted act of lewdness, bordering
on marital relations, in a public street, with Lord Maccon! She fervently hoped that very street would open up and swallow
her whole. She became even hotter than she had been moments before, this time with abject humiliation. This was, it must be
admitted, a far less pleasant sensation.

While Miss Tarabotti contemplated whether spontaneous human combustion might be due to acute embarrassment, Professor Lyall
continued. “You had all the loners stationed along the coast 'round Canterbury, remember? Well, all but one has gone missing.
Plus a number of rove vampires have also vanished.”

Lord Maccon jerked in surprise.

Alexia realized that she was still plastered against his back. She stepped away and to one side quickly. Her knees were back
in working order.

With a growl of possession, Lord Maccon snaked out one long arm and yanked her back against his side.

“Funny,” said Miss Tarabotti, trying to ignore the growl and the arm.

“What is funny?” asked the earl, sounding stern. Despite his gruff tone, he used his free hand to adjust his coat more securely
over her shoulders and neck.

Miss Tarabotti swatted at him and his solicitousness.

“Stop that,” she hissed.

Professor Lyall's bright eyes followed the interaction. His expression did not change, but Alexia had an inkling he was secretly
laughing at them both.

She said, “The drone maid said exactly the same thing about the
London
roves. A good number of them have been going missing for several weeks, apparently.” She paused. “What about London lone
werewolves? Are they still all accounted for?”

“There are none, aside from the dewan. Although he is sort of above the packs, rather than outside of them. Woolsey Castle
has always kept strict loner regulations, and we enforce them to the letter,” Professor Lyall said proudly.

“The dewan has even stronger feelings on the matter than I,” added Lord Maccon. “Well, you know how conservative the Shadow
Council tends to be.”

Miss Tarabotti, who did not, as she had very little to do with Queen Victoria's government, nodded as though she knew exactly
what they were talking about. “So we have got werewolves and vampires disappearing and new vampires appearing.” She mulled
over the quandary.

“And someone trying to make you disappear as well,” added Lord Maccon.

Professor Lyall looked upset to hear that. “What?”

Alexia was touched by his concern.

“We will discuss it later,” ordered Lord Maccon. “Right now I ought to get her back home, or we will have a whole new set
of problems to cope with.”

“Should I come along?” asked his second.

“In that state? You will only exacerbate the situation,” mocked the earl.

Alexia noted for the first time—so embarrassed was she at her inadvertent assignation—that Professor Lyall was wrapped in
a large coat and wore neither hat nor shoes. She looked with greater care; he did not have any trousers on either! Scandalized,
she covered her mouth with one hand.

“You had better scamper off back to the den,” instructed the earl.

Professor Lyall nodded and turned away, padding silently on bare feet round the corner of a nearby building. A moment later,
a small lithe sandy-colored wolf, with intelligent yellow eyes and a cloak in its mouth, trotted back into the street. He
nodded at Alexia once and then took off at a flat run down the cobbled road.

The rest of the night was comparatively uneventful. Outside Sangria, Miss Tarabotti and Lord Maccon ran into a handful of
young bucks, dandies of the first order with pinked collars and high-shine shoes, who offered them use of a carriage. The
dandies were so inoffensively foppish and so entirely inebriated that Lord Maccon felt comfortable enough taking them up on
the offer. He saw Miss Tarabotti safely to her door, the servants' entrance, of course, and into the care of a worried Floote,
the family none the wiser to her evening's peregrinations. Then Lord Maccon disappeared round the edge of a building.

Miss Tarabotti peeked out her window directly after she had dressed for bed. She was not certain what it said about her lifestyle
that she found it immensely comforting to see an enormous wolf, his brown coat brindled gold and gray, pacing the back alley
below her room.

“Lord Maccon did
what
?” Miss Ivy Hisselpenny set her gloves and beaded reticule down with a clatter onto the hall table of the Loontwills' entranceway.

Miss Tarabotti ushered her friend into the front parlor. “Keep your voice down, my dear. And please, for goodness' sake, remove
that bonnet. It's positively scorching my eyeballs.”

Ivy did as requested, staring at her friend all the while. She was so surprised by what she had just heard; she did not even
have the capacity to take obligatory offense at Alexia's customary hat-related abuse.

Floote appeared with a heavy-laden tray and plucked the bonnet out of Miss Hisselpenny's grasp. He held the offensive article—a
purple velvet affair covered with yellow flowers and a large stuffed guinea fowl—between thumb and forefinger and retreated
out of the room. Miss Tarabotti closed the door firmly behind him… and the bonnet.

Mrs. Loontwill and the young lady-twills were out shopping, but they were due back at any moment. It had taken Ivy eons to
gather momentum that morning, and now Alexia could only hope they remained uninterrupted for sufficient time to cover all
the necessary gossip.

She poured raspberry cordial.

“Well!” insisted Miss Hisselpenny, sitting down in a wicker chair and fixing one curl of her dark hair absent-mindedly.

Alexia passed her a glass of cordial and said flatly, “You heard correctly. I said that Lord Maccon kissed me last night.”

Miss Hisselpenny did not touch the beverage, so prodigious was her shock. Instead she set her glass down on a small side table
for safety's sake and leaned forward as much as her corset would allow. “Where?” She paused. “Why? How? I thought you disliked
him most intensely.” She frowned, her dark brows creasing. “I thought
he
disliked
you
most intensely.”